Tortured Silhouettes – A Poem

From across the silhouetted
cliff,
I hear a juvenile cry.
Perchance the innocence is
Killed again.
Or yet again the truth
harrassted.

As I walk by the walnut tree,
Its leaves cold and motionless.
I hear the owlet’s lament,
“Oh! What ugly winter has frozen
my paradise”.
Ten thousand and more I see,
Lay in beds, restless.
In a hurry to dress themselves.
Through every hole drilled
in them,
I see a raging storm consume
everything outside.
With ” Dead Eyes” I see nothing
but hope.
No sound shell can out sound
the truth, I chant.
Nor a pellet can blind
my vision.
My blood be but “liquid Maroon”
I paint my dearest resistance.

Comments

comments